


Order Up!

by psiten



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, And I'm really serious when I say this is about coffee, Competition, Crack Treated Seriously, Everyone takes coffee really really seriously here, First Dates, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, I'm sorry Rachel Maddow, If you don't know cafe terminology you may want to keep a dictionary open, M/M, POV Keith (Voltron), Sexual Situations, Some Plot, There's also some tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 03:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8473858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psiten/pseuds/psiten
Summary: The shots had the perfect amount of crema on top. Absolutely perfect, which said good things about the maintenance of Allura's machines and about the roasters who supplied her product as well as his ability to pull a darn good shot. They went in the cup before they could cool. Then, he marked the top with another splash of milk, and some foam shaped like the V in the Cafe Voltron logo (since he could).
       "Order up," Keith said, handing Allura the hot cup on a saucer.
       She took her first sip slowly while he cleaned up his station. "Very smooth. Correct temperature, good body, no excess bitterness..." The manager waited a moment after she swallowed before she announced, "... and no issues with the aftertaste. You're hired, Keith."
The coffee-est coffee shop AU to ever coffee shop; or, in the space of two weeks, Keith moves to a new state, gets a job at Cafe Voltron, and accidentally launches his workplace into a high-stakes coffee showdown. Also, he might just have met the love of his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SoraHoshi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoraHoshi/gifts).



> While the name "Zarbucks" is absolutely inspired by Starbucks and the macchiato problem is very real, the actions of Galra Corp and their flagship coffee franchise are not based on any real world companies. They are inspired by the Galra Empire in Voltron: Legendary Defender.

     Following Allura out of the Cafe Voltron back room, Keith took note of the morning routine and any terms his new European-sounding manager used that weren't what he was used to. He wanted to hit the ground running and get as many hours as he could. It was never too early to start saving for tuition when -- _not if_ \-- he got into the Lompoc Aeronautics Institute next year. Taking a year between high school and college to settle in California so he could get in-state tuition would save him a lot on student loans. Higher education was never going to be free, but bouncing around the foster system for as long as he'd done, Keith knew the only way to get by was to work his butt off.

     Well, work his butt off and keep his nose down, but he'd never been good at that second part.

     "And of course, the drip coffee is the last thing that goes on before we open," Allura said, pointing to the sealed jars of beans and the grinders by the drip pots. "One blue scoop for a small pot, five red scoops if there's enough of a rush to warrant a carafe, but do be sure you clear it out after fifteen minutes if you haven't run dry."

     Keith nodded. "Right. You wouldn't want the coffee getting stale."

     "Good man. Drip coffee and regular teas are both free to staff rather than sold with the employee discount. Just mark them in the ledger here. Now, we have fifteen minutes until the doors open. Before your backup for the morning shift arrives and I call the others out from the stock room to make introductions, I'd like you to make me a honey macchiato."

     He could see by the way she narrowed her eyes: this was a test. Keith swallowed hard, flicking his eyes from the Zarbucks logo glowing over the franchise store across the street to his manager's unwavering stare. His year working for a Zarbucks back east after _his_ cafe had closed had been a special kind of hell, starting with the automatic tamps for compacting the espresso. One of the most infuriating things was hearing a _caramel latte_ called a macchiato. It was wrong, and Galra Corp's coffee franchise had brainwashed too many people into ordering that way at real coffee shops.

     "Just... checking, you don't mean--"

     "No, I most certainly do not," she answered, a smile softening her face. "But good of you to ask. I would like a _real_ caffe macchiato. With a touch of honey."

     "Coming right up."

     He put a wide-mouthed cup on the warmer since she wasn't ordering this to go, and ground two shots worth of beans while he steamed a pitcher of whole milk. Of course Allura didn't have an automatic tamp, not with the artsy store she ran -- and Keith loved the feel of wielding the manual tamp to pack the espresso grounds into the hopper. You couldn't get a feel for the right pressure if you used an automatic tamp. Once he turned the switch on the espresso machine, he added honey to the cup and mixed it with a splash of milk (there was no way he was going to _stir_ this woman's espresso) before he had to switch the espresso stream off.

     The shots had the perfect amount of crema on top. Absolutely perfect, which said good things about the maintenance of Allura's machines and about the roasters who supplied her product as well as his ability to pull a darn good shot. They went in the cup before they could cool. Then, he marked the top with another splash of milk, and some foam shaped like the V in the Cafe Voltron logo (since he could).

     "Order up," Keith said, handing Allura the hot cup on a saucer.

     She took her first sip slowly while he cleaned up his station. "Very smooth. Correct temperature, good body, no excess bitterness..." The manager waited a moment after she swallowed before she announced, "... and no issues with the aftertaste. You're hired, Keith."

     "You mean I wasn't hired before?" He seemed to remember filling out his I-9 and joining onto the company's insurance policy (with dental included, heck yeah).

     Taking a seat at the bar, she drained the rest of her drink while it was still hot. "Well, I need the coverage, so I probably would've kept you on in some capacity, but I was hardly going to take down my 'Seeking Experienced Barista' sign if you couldn't perform up to my expectations. The employee you'll be replacing left quite a hole to fill."

     He shrugged. "That sounds fair. So how many hours can I get?"

     "We've got part time for you this week, twenty hours, and if that goes well, you'll be able to get full time on the next schedule. Now, I do believe your partner for the morning shift has arrived!"

     The bells on the door jangled, and a young Latino man wearing a "Cheer Like a Beauty, Train Like a Beast" t-shirt walked in pulling headphones off his ears. Another man came in after him -- Japanese, like Keith, but taller and more muscular, not to mention really easy on the eyes. Keith didn't usually go for bleached hair, but this guy made the frosted bangs work. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to be the one Keith was supposed to work with, since Mr. Muscles waved at Allura as if to say, "Don't let me interrupt," while he sat in the back corner booth. So, a regular who was friendly with the boss, clearly. If Allura liked him, there was a chance he was someone worth knowing, not just a jerk who happened to be attractive.

     The cheerleader, meanwhile, marched right over to the counter to grab an apron. "Sup, people! Another beautiful Cally morning, am I right? Or am I right?" This person, who was already too ebullient for Keith's taste, leaned over the counter to point a finger-gun in his face. "You must be the new guy. Buddy, have _you_ got some big shoes to fill! Bet you're glad I'm here."

     "I'm not your buddy," Keith answered. "I don't even know who you are."

     His countermate staggered back with his hands over his heart. "You wound me! Allura, who the heck is this guy?"

     The lady nodded between them by way of introduction. "Lance, this is Keith. As you've guessed, he'll be starting today, and he already knows what he's doing, so let him make the drinks."

     With an overdramatic quadruple take between Keith and the cup in Allura's hands, Lance whispered, "Wait. Are you telling me you can make Allura's drink? Like, well enough that she'll actually drink it?"

     "What, are you saying you can't? Caffe macchiato is a staple."

     "Well, maybe I couldn't make a caffe macchiato on my _first day_ , but now? You are talking to an ace barista. Anything you want, I can make it."

     "Great, since that's our job, right?"

     Allura pushed his coworker toward the back room. "It's almost time to open, Lance, so stow your things and call Hunk and Katie out here, then start making the sandwiches."

     "Yes, Ma'am!"

     "Keith..." She waited for him to look up, meeting his eyes with a patient smile. "I hope you'll try a little harder to get along with Lance. He's a bit excitable, but he's a solid worker."

     "I didn't mean to be rude. But he called me 'Buddy'. We've never met, so it's impossible for me to be his buddy." Keith didn't see why this was such a big deal.

     She touched two neatly manicured hands to her mouth. "Oh dear. I see. Well, if you would, as a personal favor to me, please refrain from correcting him about things that are impossible or illogical or... shall we say, _incorrect_ , unless they happen to be work related?"

     Keith felt his eye twitch. "Does Lance say _lots_ of things that are incorrect?"

     Busting out of the back room with two more people in tow, Lance yelled, "Let's get this party started, people!"

     Since Allura had asked, Keith did _not_ inform Lance that they here to work, not to party. But it was really, really hard.

     "Everyone," Allura told the group, "I'd like you to meet our new barista, Keith Kogane. I hope you'll all make him feel welcome here at Cafe Voltron Books and Coffee. Keith, you've just met Lance McClain, of course..."

     "Lance _Charles_ McClain," Lance corrected her, with a smile he probably thought was dashing, making more finger guns in the air. "Yippee ki-yay, melon farmer! Which, I know isn't the original line, but there are ladies present."

     Rolling her eyes, Allura moved on. "Yes, quite. Thank you, Lance. Next is Hunk Garrett, who works primarily on the book side, but he's more than capable of running the register and the oven in a pinch."

     "Hey," said the big brown guy with an air of calm that struck Keith as either 'surfer' or just 'low key and friendly', but he couldn't say for sure which. "Nice to have you on board."

     He seemed all right, anyway.

     The last person in the group was a short, pale, nerdy-looking kid with glasses and fluffy hair. "And this is Katie Holt. She just started yesterday, helping Hunk with the books. Once you're settled in, Keith, we'll rotate her into the cafe side for a few slow shifts so she can learn to cover your or Lance's breaks."

     "Can't wait," the kid said, in a tone that clearly meant she had no interest in covering breaks.

     The manager clapped her hands. "Now, to your stations, everyone. I'll go open the store."

     With a stop on the way back, Keith noticed, to give a hug to the buff regular sitting in the booth. But it wasn't his job to spy on customers, no matter how good looking, who were on hugging terms with his boss. It was his job to start the drip coffee (one blue scoop) and man the register until Lance finished with the food setup, which apparently meant serving the fluffy-haired nerd who plunked a refillable coffee cup down on the counter.

     "How are you not in violation of child labor laws?" Keith asked her. She was tiny.

     "I'm sixteen," she shot back, pulling a label maker that said 'Cafe Voltron' off the table behind her back. "My dad signed the work permits to get me a summer job, because _apparently_ I was spending too much time hacking into the Institute's classified project files. It's not like I was going to share it with the Russians or anything. I just wanted to know!"

     Keith wasn't sure if she was joking or not, but there was one thing he was sure of. "Did you steal the label maker from Allura's office?" he asked.

     " _No~o_ ," said the person who was, in front of his eyes, printing out a name label that said Pidge and slapping it over the label on her nametag that already said Katie. She made a second label right after that to put on her coffee cup, which Keith hoped wasn't stolen.

     "All right, then, _Pidge_." Using that name got him a smile, anyway. "What'll it be?"

     She nodded at the drip pot he'd brewed. "Coffee. Black as midnight on a moonless night."

     The way she said that made Keith pause mid-pour. It sounded too familiar. Narrowing his eyes to a glare, he asked, "Are you quoting _Twin Peaks_?"

     She glared right back, scrunching her nose to shift her glasses closer to her eyes. "Why? Are you some kind of fan?"

     "Honestly, no. I hate David Lynch."

     "Good for you. That jerk even messed up _Dune_. But you can't argue with black coffee," she said, picking up her steaming cup.

     Keith marked it down on the log, but he still had a lot of questions about this kid. Like what effect large amounts of caffeine would have on her system, since he doubted that was going to be her only cup. "Of course you can't argue with black coffee," he said. "It's a fact, not an opinion."

     Pidge swallowed a gulp without flinching, despite how hot Keith knew the coffee was, since he was the one who'd brewed it. Burping, she walked back towards the books and raised a fist over her head. Her yell of, "Darn tootin'!" would've echoed in any place that was less full of shelves packed with paper books.

     "Pidge is a good kid," said a rich baritone voice that Keith couldn't match to any of his new co-workers. Sure enough, when he looked up, the buff customer with the frosted bangs was leaning on the drink pick-up counter, flashing a smile that was fit for a Disney prince. "Although she's not kidding about Professor Holt trying to keep her away from the Institute's network. There are certain levels of government who would not have been pleased if her last little adventure had gotten through one more layer of encryption."

     "Oh... okay," Keith choked out, hoping he didn't sound too flustered. This guy was kind of too hot to be a real human being, at least not at 6 in the fucking morning. Even the long scar across the bridge of his nose was hot. Keith had thought perfectly symmetrical, ridiculously sexy scarring was something you only saw in fiction. Luckily, old customer service training kicked in where his ability to make coherent conversation with an attractive customer failed. The words that tumbled out of his mouth were, "Can I get you something to drink?"

     "Small quad-shot Americano, half a scoop of those dark chocolate crystals for the fancy hot chocolate. Not the chocolate sauce, if you don't mind."

     "You mean not the chocolate _flavored_ sauce," Keith scoffed. No doubt Allura invested in the best she could get, but no substance in the world had enough cocoa in it to be called actual chocolate _and_ could be pumped like a sauce. Just facts. He rang up the drink, the extra shots, and the flavor, and let the man slide his card through the reader while he took a 12-ounce cup over to the machine. "So what's your name?" he added, trying to sound casual.

     "You need to call it out so you don't confuse me with the other customers?" the man teased, since there were none, yet. It looked like people were ducking into the Zarbucks, but that always happened when chains opened. Darn Galra Corp. Still, Keith was sure a good crowd had to be expected soon, or there wouldn't be so much perishable food in the back. But if people weren't coming around at all, he'd just have to make better coffee so they couldn't stay away.

     "I like to know the regulars. It'd be nice to have something to call you besides Quad-Shot Chocolate Americano."

     "Shirogane Takashi, but everybody calls me Shiro."

     "Nice to meet you, Shiro. I'm Keith, and apparently I'm your new barista." Chocolate wasn't as easy to melt as honey, but he got the job done. From the aroma when the four shots of espresso and the hot water top-off went in, Keith was sure it'd blended perfectly. "One cup of strong and hot," he told his customer, biting back the urge to add, "Just like you." If he wanted to make a good impression on Allura and get those full-time hours, using unprofessional pick-up lines on the boss's friends was not the way to go.

     Unfortunately for Keith, the tiny hint of a grin on Shiro's face when he breathed in the scent of his coffee came even closer to stopping his heart than the Disney prince smile had. He wasn't just after something to drink, Keith could tell. This Shiro knew coffee. And watching him take a moment like the cup Keith had handed him spoke to his soul was mesmerizing.

     "You've got talent, New Barista Keith. I'm glad Allura found someone like you. She was starting to get worried."

     "Because nobody was as good as this guy I'm replacing? Seriously?!" He understood being worried about not having the people to cover your shifts, but how good did a barista have to be? "Everybody talks like he's was some kind of cafe god. I mean, come on! Good coffee may be an art, but it's not like it's a _miracle_."

     Holy crap. Shiro's eyes actually twinkled when he laughed. Keith had never thought that was a real thing before. Apparently it was real, and on this guy, it could make him blush so hard, he kind of wanted to die.

     "Was he really that good?" Keith whispered.

     Shiro shook his head. "It's definitely not my place to say, since, well..." With a wince he said, "You're looking at him."

     Murmuring a dumbfounded, "Yeah," Keith cleaned up the machine with a thousand questions fighting to get out of his mouth. "But... if you're here, then--"

     "That's a story I'd rather tell when you don't have a customer walking up."

     "Shoot." Keith got cleaned up and back to the register before the woman walking in the door could reach the counter. "Some other time, then?"

     "Some other time."

     Naturally, Lance picked that exact moment to burst out of the back room with the sandwiches. "Shiro! My man! How's it hangin'? What's new?!" He went on like that, chattering enough for three people while Keith took the lady's order and made her a skim latte.

     His ears didn't start turning red until he heard Shiro saying, "But you better watch out. Keith here pulls a mean shot."

     "Skim latte, order up," Keith called to the lady, ignoring how Lance protested that Keith's shots had to be a fluke, and Lance would prove he was the best. All obviously false. But despite the talking, Lance was actually stocking the sandwiches, and it wasn't like the customers walking in would be more than Keith could handle.

     Shiro clearly enjoying his drink, on the other hand, and shooting him a friendly wink before he walked back to his table... That, Keith wasn't so sure he could handle. Where the hell did any man get off being that hot _and_ interesting... and maybe even a good guy? That just wasn't fair.


	2. Chapter 2

     This whole, "Having a crush on a customer," thing was going all right, Keith supposed. One week in, with Shiro showing up most days around lunch to tutor students who were taking summer classes at the Institute (Keith didn't eavesdrop, he swore, but some things were obvious), he could manage the normal banter about weather and current events without so much as a hiccup, despite being hyper-aware of every tiny smirk Shiro made.

     Then there was the way Shiro would say, "Maybe some other time, when you're off the clock," when they started having a conversation only to have another customer approach. He had to wonder if that was as much of an invitation as it sounded like. If it was, he'd be an idiot not to take his shot.

     You know, when he was off the clock. He did want to keep his job.

     "Hey Lance," Keith yelled out. "I'm going to start some iced tea before I take my fifteen. It's the herbal, so you don't have to touch it."

     In the back, Lance hosed out all the drip coffee carafes they'd emptied over the lunch rush. "Thanks, dude!" He had to admit, it was nice that Lance didn't mind doing the dishes or hauling ice, and letting him handle most of the brewing work for anything and everything they served (despite how Keith knew being a control freak was not his most endearing quality). Speaking of which, the current lull meant that their small pot of drip had to get remade, and the leftovers would be going down the--

     "Refill," Pidge said, dropping her tumbler on the counter.

     She always managed to show up just in time to 'save' the coffee. "How the heck do you do that?" Keith asked. This time, at least, there was just enough left to fill the cup once. It was terrifying when she managed to chug sixteen ounces of hot, black coffee fast enough for an instant refill.

     "You work here long enough, you get a sense for how much coffee people drink."

     Keith rolled his eyes, setting the new pot on. "You've worked here for a week, just like me."

     With a shrug, she added, "Also I can hear the brewer, I have a watch, and between that and the average total sales records, I was able to write a simple program that sends an alert to my phone every time it predicts that you'll have more coffee than you can serve. Congratulations. You are so predictable, I can literally set a clock by it."

     "Thanks," said Keith. There was no point in asking if Allura knew that Pidge had hacked her sales records, and definitely none in asking how programming something like that could be simple. "Just make sure you don't die of caffeine poisoning, and let Hunk know I'll be taking my break in five."

     "You've got it."

     Opening up the herbal tea so he could dump two cups of loose leaves into a measuring bowl, meanwhile, was like heaven. The scent of citrus and lavender went everywhere. How lucky was he to have found a cafe to work at where the proprietor stocked top shelf loose tea? While he ran steaming water from the hot tap, he dropped a teaspoon of gyokuro green tea into a cup for himself. He could barely believe employees were allowed to drink something like that for free. His partner was coming out with the clean dishes for the afternoon, too. Perfect timing.

     "Lance, you mind marking me down for a cup of tea?"

     "No prob, Bob."

     "My name is Keith," he shot back, forgetting that he was supposed to let that shit go. Crap!

     But Lance didn't seem to notice, besides nudging him in the shoulder. "Just messing with you. Hey! Did I tell you about this awesome new routine my squad's doing? We're gonna rock the collegiate regionals, _guaranteed_."

     "Let me guess. There's both jumping and flipping involved."

     "Haha! But seriously, dude..."

     When the technical cheerleading terminology started, Keith had learned they were less likely to say crap that got on each others' nerves if he just tuned out. He watched the hot water pouring over the tea to make sure he could stop it at just the right level, and he set it out of the way in the back. He definitely wasn't... you know... _watching_ Shiro's table. It was just at a really visible angle from the cafe area, so he _happened_ to see Shiro every time he was facing front. Like now, when he _happened_ to see Shiro smile at him while he closed a book. Because the latest student leaving.

     Right before Keith's break.

     Keith strained the leaves out of his cup of green tea at what felt like a faster pace than ever before, although it wasn't like water could rush falling. He probably felt like it was faster because his heart was thumping in a painfully uncool manner.

     "Lance..."

     "I'm telling you man, the Spirit Tuck is ridiculously underrated. It is not as easy to make look good as everybody claims!"

     "That's great, Lance. But I need a favor quick..." He pulled a five-dollar bill out of his pocket and left it by the register while he took over the espresso machine like a man on a mission. Which he was. "Ring me up for Shiro's regular."

     Lance's smile glowed like a firework on the Fourth of July. "Okay, I see how it is. Making your move, huh, Keith? Well, don't let me stop you. The way to that man's heart has always been and always will be through his espresso order."

     "Well, I appreciate a man who appreciates good coffee."

     With his own hot tea in one hand and a dark chocolate and espresso masterpiece (if Keith did say so himself) in the other, he didn't have a way to grab the change Lance had for him. This in no way prepared him for Lance to slip it into his back pocket and follow with a solid smack on his butt. Hunk nearly got two drinks spilled on him because Keith _almost_ dropped everything over getting money-goosed.

     But he didn't actually drop anything. He was just that good.

     Hunk, on the other hand, dropped a heavy sigh. "Lance. Do we have to have another talk about appropriate touching in the workplace?"

     "Oh come on! It's just a little good luck pat on the pooch, if you know what I mean and I think you do!" Switching to a whisper, Lance told Hunk, "Keith's about to tell Shiro how his manly physique and dreamy eyes make his little sullen heart go pitter-pat, like a baby bird's wings on a warm spring day..."

     "If you don't cut the chatter and keep your hands to yourself, " Keith hissed back, "your brain will be going pitter-pat when I kick you into the icebox."

     And yet, Lance's smile was so genuine, Keith found himself returning it without meaning to. His coworker pushed his face with a fist -- definitely more of a push than a punch, which Keith wasn't really used to when dealing with guys his own age. "You know what, Keith? You are an infuriating, condescending, downright annoyingly attractive jerk, but you make good coffee, and you have good taste in men."

     "Uh, thanks?"

     "What I'm saying is, you seem like you might be an okay guy, which is good, because everyone here wants Shiro to have good things. Shiro deserves nothing but the best," he said, while Hunk nodded with an equally glowing smile in the background.

     "Great," Keith said, not quite sure how to take all the weird concern. "So can I go? I'd like to give him this coffee before it gets cold."

     "Right! Yes! Go, go, go!" Lance leaned over the counter, failing to look intimidating thanks to the giant grin on his face. "I'll have my eye on you, mister!"

     Allura appeared as if out of nowhere and tapped Lance on the shoulder. "Actually, Lance, while it's slow I thought I'd run you through some training exercises. You still have a few techniques left to master. So, drinks for everyone on shift. Hunk, you first."

     "Oh, you know me! Medium soy hazelnut steamer!"

     With some actual privacy, thanks to Allura grilling Lance on how to tilt the steam wand, Keith felt less like walking over to Shiro's table would make him die of blushing. The man's neck while he looked over a few pages of notes still made Keith kind of want to die, but it definitely would've been worse if anyone (read: Lance) had been yelling commentary from the bar. As it was, he only had to wonder how much of the previous conversation Shiro had heard. Lance wasn't particularly quiet, even when he was whispering.

     "Hey." Shiro looked up when Keith spoke. Then he smiled, with little happy creases by his eyes (which were, admittedly, dreamy), so it had to be an honest smile. Working in customer service, surrounded by forced smiles all day, you learned to tell the difference.

     "Keith," Shiro answered with a smirk that _definitely_ meant he'd heard what Lance said.

     "I brought you some coffee," Keith said, hoping it came out sounding cool-ish, although he was pretty sure he just sounded like a dork. "And just so we're clear, I came over to ask you on a date. So... you can tell me straight up if that's not something you'd be into."

     The man pushed out the chair next to his to invite Keith to sit, and that was good enough for him. It was also close enough to see that Shiro only had a hint of stubble heading into 2:30 in the afternoon, and how his eyes twinkled again like he wasn't going to play hard to get. "Usually people ask if I'd like to grab some coffee, but I guess you've got that covered," he said with one of those heart-stopping sips of his drink where his face looked like the definition of bliss.

     "But I work here, and you kind of _still_ work here." Keith shrugged, nodding at the school books. "Maybe we could skip to din--" One of the diagrams on Shiro's notes caught his eye. "Is that the Merlin first stage engine array for the Falcon 9 rocket?"

     "I was helping a freshman in the engineering division go over safety protocols." Shiro pushed the papers over where Keith could take a closer look. There wasn't anything classified, of course, or they wouldn't have been papers the man could have out in public. "So I guess I don't have to ask if you've got any hobbies..."

     "Well, I don't know that engines are my hobby so much as things I can fly. I actually want to get into the piloting program at the Aeronautics Institute." Keith swallowed his words as Shiro cocked an eyebrow. "Don't tell me. That's the program you're in, isn't it."

     "I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other once you enroll."

     Keith offered a toast, clinking his mug against Shiro's. "Technically, I'm already seeing a lot of you, since you're here everyday. I had no idea the Institute would authorize official tutoring work off campus. They don't put you in a classroom?"

     "Well, I pitched it as catering to students who learn better outside of a classroom, but..." Shiro's eyes filled with a nostalgic glow as he looked at the trickle of customers looking for coffee or browsing the bookshelves. "Honestly, I want to give this place every ounce of support I can. It hasn't been easy for Allura since Galra Corp opened that Zarbucks at the end of last school year. I figure, any students I bring here are probably going to come back, assuming _you_ make their orders right."

     "Oh, I will, I promise. I've lost enough to Galra Corp already."

     Shiro made a _face_... Keith wasn't quite sure what to call it, except that it looked like he was really listening. "That sounds serious."

     "Geez, it's not that complicated. It was my foster parents -- well, my second to last foster family -- they ran a coffeeshop a lot like this one. But you know the drill. The Zarbucks came to town, and before we knew it, Sven and Marie weren't making enough to stay open. They couldn't keep their foster license without steady work, all the kids got shuffled to other houses..."

     He tried to turn away before Shiro could see how close that thought brought him to crying, but then the man reached over to push the bangs out of Keith's eyes and looking away was impossible. He couldn't believe Shiro looked seriously concerned, and wasn't about to mock him for "Zarbucks drama" the way the kids in high school had.

     But he wasn't about to get emotional in public. Keith wiped away the almost-tears before they could turn real. "Anyway, I wanted to save for a ticket out once I turned eighteen and graduated high school... but wouldn't you know, the only place that'd hire me was yet another Zarbucks. Adding insult to injury, you know? But that's over now."

     Shiro touched his shoulder. "Yeah, it is. And trust me, Allura will keep this place open, as long as Lance and Hunk don't desert her, and now you and Pidge. And there's always the Mice..."

     "The Mice?"

     "Night crew. I'm not surprised you haven't noticed them. They mostly do overnight unboxing and laydowns, and creep around the bookshelves during late shifts while Allura runs the bar. They're pretty quiet, hence everyone calling them--"

     "--the Mice," Keith finished, nodding. "So, Shiro..."

     "Hmm?"

     "What happ--"

     The door slammed, and a voice somewhere between a playground whistle and a gargle cut through the cafe. "Allura! I come bearing gifts! Well, not gifts really, since y'paid for 'em, but we've got your rolls, we've got your pastries, and... My word! Shiro! Have you got yourself a young man now?! That's wonderful!"

     The middle aged man shoving his bright red moustache in Keith's face was definitely going to take some explaining.

     "Hi... I'm. Keith. The new barista."

     "The new barista?! Well, why didn't you say so, Keith?!"

     "I... did, though?"

     "Pleasure to have you aboard! I'm Coran, and if you're working with Allura, then I am at your service! Mostly for food, really. That's what I do. But if there's a leaky pipe, or a sidewalk to shovel, or an army of crocodiles raining from the sky...!" The fellow mimed something that looked more like an explosion than a rainfall. "I'm here, day or night, for any friend of Allura's."

     The lady herself rushed out from the bar to hug the newcomer. "Coran! Oh, you know you don't have to come out yourself, although it's always such a treat to see you!"

     "Like I'd miss a chance to catch up with Alfor's little coffee princess! How're you holding up, Allura? Team still together, I see?"

     The two of them walked toward the bar, talking in half-phrases that'd probably be unintelligible to anyone who hadn't known them for years. Keith certainly didn't follow it, except for when Coran told Lance, "Oh, right! And I'll have a medium vanilla raspberry low-foam decaf latte with coconut milk -- extra hot, extra whipped cream!"

     Then Shiro whispered in his ear. Once Keith's nervous system got over feeling like he'd just been electrified, he could even tell what Shiro was explaining.

     "Coran's been the baked goods vendor here since Allura's father opened Cafe Voltron, may he rest in peace. I know Allura's going to pull through. She's a fighter. But I get why he worries, too. Since the Zarbucks poached almost all her staff, she's been working every shift herself to make sure the doors stay open."

     "Wait... _every shift_?!" He narrowed his eyes at Shiro, who didn't look like he was joking and didn't seem like a liar. "That's got to be at least 120 hours a week. What the heck!"

     Shiro drew his mouth tight, dead serious. "I don't know if they did it on purpose, but Galra couldn't have picked a worse time to open that Zarbucks. At the start of the summer, most of the college kids are gone, and the ones who need jobs already have them. Like I said, they poached Allura's staff. Galra's got deep pockets. I stayed as long as I could... and if this tutoring job weren't part of my financial aid--"

     "Don't you dare act like this is your fault," Keith snarled. "If you'll excuse me a sec, there's something I need to do."

     He walked straight to where Hunk was manning the register, while Allura told Lance, "He said low foam, not no foam."

     "Hey, Hunk. I need some drip coffee."

     "I didn't know you drank drip in the afternoons. What size?"

     Keith noticed Hunk's eyebrows creeping into his hairline, which probably meant he'd slipped into his 'resting asshole face' again. He tried to smile when he said, "Just give me all of it. Four smalls. I'm gonna go get us some customers."

     "This seems really shady, but I'm going to trust that you know what you're doing."

     With Lance yelling that nobody could make foam in coconut milk, and Allura telling him, "You can, and you will," Hunk stuck four cups in a carry tray and filled them exactly full enough. Keith grabbed some sugar and napkins from the mix bar, too, just in case.

     And he saw the shit-eating grin on Shiro's face when he walked out the door. That definitely wasn't why he was crossing the street to the (still hopping busy) Zarbucks with a tray of hot drip, but he sure saw it.

     "Hey!" Keith called out to the line of people waiting to place orders. "Any of you here for drip coffee?" Most people looked at him like he had his head on backwards, but in a line that long of course there were a few who stepped out for the cups he was holding. "Compliments of Cafe Voltron," he told them, nodding at their sign across the street. "Where the coffee's always fresh. Need sugar? There you go..."

     "Dude!" Behind the register, a young man with dyed purple hair and a plaid flannel shirt that looked like he was channeling Nirvana's corner of the 1990's was wearing a nametag that said, 'Rolo,' and a face made of panic. "What do you think you're doing?! If Allura finds out you're crashing, she'll feed you to the lions!"

     The blond girl steaming milk and pulling shots, Nyma, snapped back, "Rolo, we've got a line. Work it. And you should leave, new kid. Nobody has time for this."

     "Your manager better have time," Keith said. "I didn't just come here to show up corporate sell-outs."

     Nyma shot a look at a short guy Keith hadn't noticed when he came in. "Beezer, can you get Prorok for this jerk? And while you're back there, we're low on blender base. ... I've got a Decaf Venti Crème Caramel Cookie Freeze for Mitch?!"

     As a towering customer with one bad eye and an etched-in scowl took his drink, the short barista rushed to the back, and Keith realized he had about ten seconds to decide what he was going to say. He was going to need actual words for this, not just the basic plan of, "Show up and be awesome," that'd gotten him through most of his life.

     And he had nothing, but he wasn't going to let the barrel-chested manager stomping out of the back room see that. Keith kept his glare rock-steady, despite the crick he was probably going to get in his neck from looking up at the asshole's face. (He was certain it was Galra policy for all Zarbucks managers to be assholes.)

     "Are you Prorok?" Keith asked.

     "I am. I understand you work for our... _esteemed competitor_ , Cafe Voltron. Unless you need to buy a gallon of milk, I suggest you make this quick."

     Rolling his eyes, he said, "Yeah, my name's Keith. Thanks for asking. And I'm here to..." He glanced at the last cup of hot coffee in his tray. "... I'm here to bring you some coffee. In case you forgot what it's supposed to taste like. Or maybe you never knew."

     "Are you calling our coffee _bad_?" Prorok hissed.

     Now that, Keith could work with. "I've got a lot of things I could call Zarbucks coffee. I wasn't going to settle for something as non-specific as 'bad'. But drink up, and see for yourself what coffee tastes like when it's not burned and all the aromatic oils are still intact. I don't care what kind of dirty tricks you used to try and shut Cafe Voltron down." He held out the coffee with the surliest glare he could manage -- the kind he used to save for moving in with a new family to show any other kids how little shit he was willing to take. "We will always come out on top, because our coffee is that much better."

     Spreading his arms wide to show off the wall of (increasingly nervous) customers behind him, Prorok laughed, "I think that's for the people drinking our coffee to decide."

     "One order at Cafe Voltron, and they won't be drinking your coffee anymore. I'll bet my life on it. Are you willing to put your coffee where your mouth is, Prorok?"

     "A manager's life is a busy one, without time for silly games, but if it's a showdown you're after..." Prorok lifted the coffee Keith had brought, and pulled off the lid. "I think I can make time to put you in your place... _barista_."

     The Zarbucks jerk locked glares with Keith as he slowly, a degree at a time, tilted the cup of steaming, fragrant coffee so it spilled all over the floor. Oh, he was asking for it now! If Keith had to guess from the way Rolo winced behind the register, Prorok wasn't going to be the one cleaning up his own mess. Didn't that just figure. But before Keith could so much as say, "Bring it on," Allura stopped everyone in their tracks.

     "Prorok! I expected more of a _manager_ employed by Galra!" She grabbed a few napkins from the mix bar on her way over, dropping them on the pool of coffee and grinding the mess clean under her stylishly booted toes. "I came here to apologize for my barista's unprofessional behavior, and I do apologize for any inconvenience he may have caused. I assure you, he will have a suitable punishment. However, after that display, I have no choice but to insist you apologize to Keith as well. If you have a problem with one of my employees, you will bring it to me, not taunt him like a child on the schoolyard in front of your own customers."

     Allura pushed Keith behind her with more force than it looked like she could hold in her slender arms. Another strong grip caught him before he could stumble, although finding out it belonged to Shiro made him feel even more like he was falling.

     "S-shiro?!" he whispered. "How much of that did you see?"

     "Oh, I saw the whole thing, but Allura came in when Prorok offered to sell you a gallon of milk."

     "Is she angry?"

     "Furious. But I kind of want to kiss you. That was _amazing_."

     Keith had officially lost all control of the situation, and his voice, too, based on the squeak he made. _Geez_ , he hoped Shiro wasn't joking about... things...

     Allura whipped around long enough to say, "Don't encourage him!" Then it was right back to the reaming she was giving Prorok. "Now, where were we?"

     "Discussing what consequences you're prepared to accept for your employee slandering my establishment!" Prorok growled.

     "Slander? Don't waste your breath. In order for my employee to have committed slander, he needs to have said something untrue."

     "He accused my Zarbucks of selling bad coffee! If you're trying to say that's the truth--"

     "I have said no such thing, and neither did Keith." Allura pulled herself up ramrod straight, challenging Prorok with every inch of her posture. And people said _he_ had an attitude! "When you asked, he declined to call your coffee bad, in fact. As I recall, and as I'm sure all these witnesses will confirm if asked for their testimony, the only statement my employee made directly is that our coffee would beat yours in a taste test -- and I absolutely believe that to be the truth. In fact, I defy you to prove otherwise."

     "We'll see about that! If it's a competition you want, it's a competition you'll get!"

     Sticking out a hand to shake, Allura said, "Very well. Once Cafe Voltron has proved its quality, I will expect you to apologize to my employee for your behavior today."

     "And if your little coffee shop loses?" Prorok scoffed.

     "Name your stakes."

     "If Zarbucks wins, Cafe Voltron..." A sickening smile curled on Prorok's lips as he held out his hand to meet Allura's. "... will close forever."

     "It's a wager."

     Allura shook his hand without a single hesitation. Keith could feel the room fall still, silent enough to hear everyone's heart beating. Even Prorok recoiled.

     "What?! You'd actually bet your cafe?!"

     Allura's voice could've frozen lava. "I stake my cafe on the quality of our coffee every single day, Prorok. Cafe Voltron won't lose to anyone. Now, shall we settle the time and place before we call our lawyers to draw up the paperwork?"

     When Shiro slipped his hand into Keith's, he had to squeeze it to make sure this was real life, not a dream. In a daze, he followed the ex-barista out the door, and was able to breathe normally once they hit the street.

     "You okay there?" Shiro asked. "You look like you're about to faint."

     "She's incredible! Holy shit!"

     "I think she studied law after she got her business management degree. Not to mention she can bench a truck."

     "If I weren't so gay, this could be love."

     Shiro leaned against the wall with a smirk. "So does being gay mean we're still on for dinner tonight?"

     "Um, yes. Don't think I'm letting you get away with not going on a date after your deliberately leading comment about wanting to kiss me."

     Poking Shiro in the chest while standing on tiptoe meant Keith could scowl directly into his potential boyfriend's eyes (which, holy crow, were even more gorgeous from close up). And it felt so right, so easy, even when he let Shiro grab his hand again, and... that sure was Shiro's other hand on his hip, holding him like it was the most natural thing in the world. The butterflies in Keith's stomach spread through his whole chest. If there'd been anything in his brain besides how Shiro's lips looked and whether that stubble was grown out enough to feel like fine grain sandpaper against his skin, there sure as heck wasn't anymore.

     Shiro laced his fingers through the hand he was holding. "Okay. I'm out of afternoon classes at six thirty. Why don't I get your address from Allura and meet you at your place around seven thirty?"

     "I know my own address. If you want it, I can give it to you myself."

     "Yeah, you don't have time for that," Shiro laughed.

     Keith didn't argue. He could see Shiro leaning in, and feel the way the hand on his hip pulled him closer. The taste of espresso and dark chocolate was still fresh on Shiro's lips, too, which Keith could hardly believe wasn't the focus of his attention, but there were a couple less familiar things taking over his senses. Answer: yeah, the stubble on Shiro's upper lip and chin was subtly, stirringly rough.

     But not as rough as Allura grabbing his arm on her way out the Zarbucks door, and pulling him into a breath-crushing hug before she dragged back across the road. "Well, that's enough of that. Work now. You can kiss Shiro later."

     "Huh?"

     "Your fifteen minute break is quite up, young man, and in case you haven't noticed, half of that Zarbucks line is following us to try our coffee." Sure enough, the crowd Keith saw over his shoulder was nothing to laugh at. Allura shoved him through their own door, where Hunk was waiting with his apron and nametag. "Now, I'll take care of that iced tea you started. _You_ , Keith, had best turn everyone here into a repeat customer like you bet your life you could, or you'll be washing dishes for the next month."

     "Yes, ma'am!" Keith said, leaving Lance to work some register magic while he manned the espresso machine. He was going to make these people the best coffee of their lives.


	3. Chapter 3

     Keith adjusted his jacket in the mirror and combed a nonexistent imperfection out of his hair, then picked up his phone to scroll through restaurant reviews again. Shiro seemed classy. Suggesting one of the cheap diners or food carts where he usually ate probably wasn't going to make the best impression, but it wasn't like he'd lived here long enough to have a favorite nice restaurant. He'd decided ten minutes ago to just ask Shiro if there was a place he wanted to go, but he had to have a backup plan (or two) in case Shiro said, "Whatever you want," right? Somewhere upscale, but within his price range, but also cool, like he wasn't trying too hard.

     Was Italian considered a good date food? Cartoon dogs aside, sauce on your chin was bad, he assumed, although your date wiping sauce off your chin could be good. At least he could be pretty sure that pasta was pasta wherever you went, so he wouldn't get surprised by the menu being weird. Then again, he'd found out the hard way that they didn't make pizza in Chicago the same way they'd made it in Connecticut.

     Next time, he was definitely asking Shiro to a planetarium. You could count on stars.

     A firm knock came from his door. 7:25, so apparently Shiro came from the "on time is late" school of thought. Good to know. Taking a nice, long breath, Keith crossed to the door. It didn't take long. His bedroom was technically the only room in his tiny apartment, not counting the closet-sized bathroom and the "kitchen" that consisted of a sink, a fridge, and a stove he never used, all crowded around one square yard of linoleum.

     "Hey," he said, pulling open the door. "I was just--"

     A smile cut across Shiro's freshly shaved chin, which caught the light almost the same way as the double breasted black leather jacket that fit his chest like a glove. That was... a lot to take in. Not to mention that Shiro was holding out a four-ounce, display-worthy red tin of loose leaf tea.

     "You didn't seem like the bouquet of flowers type," Shiro explained. "That was the gyokuro I smelled in your cup today, right?"

     Keith set the tin next to his electric kettle, trying to stop his brain from misfiring so he could make real words. "Holy crow. You didn't have to--"

     "I wanted to." His date spun a shined-up black helmet between his hands. "So, what were you saying? You were just...?"

     "... Just. Reading..." The word 'reviews' stuck in his throat, and what came out instead was, "So, you bike? That's a motorcycle helmet, right? I mean... wanna come in? I can take your jacket."

     "Thanks. And if you like bikes, I can take you for a ride sometime."

     "You can ride me anytime you want," Keith said before he realized he was talking without thinking. His face turn bright crimson, eyes drawn to the hitch in Shiro's throat. A really nice throat, shown off to great effect by a partially unbuttoned black dress shirt. "I mean, take me... anytime."

     Shiro, the jerk, just leaned against the door, smiling while Keith hung his coat on the rack that took the place of a closet, next to all of Keith's shirts.

     "Stop laughing. Ignore the sexual innuendo. And yes, I would love a ride on your motorcycle if things, you know... work out."

     "Then I guess we'd better get you a helmet." The Disney smile reappeared as Shiro hung his helmet off the side of the clothes rack. "Safety first," he said. His tone could've come right out of a public service safety message, and yet he was still hot.

     And a helmet was fair. He could wear a helmet. "Safety's the law, right?" Keith joked, taking a seat on his currently couch-shaped futon.

     "It's more than the law!" Sitting down next to him, Shiro held out one devastatingly ripped arm, rolling his sleeve up to show a patchwork of rough scars from broken skin and cleaner scars from surgical incisions. Keith glanced at Shiro to see if it was okay to trace the lines on his skin -- like olive perfection sculpted into a living Renaissance sculpture, then broken and glued back together. Shiro gave him a nod. Over relaxed muscle, it felt like slubs of thick thread in fine shantung silk, irregularity somehow more perfect than perfection.

     "Wow," Keith breathed.

     He tried not to show on his face how ready he was to develop an arm fetish, but Shiro didn't seem to mind. "I shattered my arm once after an SUV cut me off. They drove away, I wiped out against a guardrail and broke my arm in three places. The pins holding it together set off every metal detector I go through, but thanks to my helmet, I didn't crack open my skull. I just got this," he said, and pointed to the scar across his nose.

     "Geez, I thought guys only got scars like that in fistfights!" Keith had seen his fair share, although the scars mostly ended up on the people who weren't him.

     Shiro shrugged. "Fistfight, bike wipeout... both can break your nose. What matters is not dying."

     "Cheers to that."

     "So is this what you were reading?" His date twined his fingers into Keith's grip, picking up one of the well-worn books on Keith's coffeetable-slash-nightstand in his other hand. Keith's heart was physically aching from pumping his blood so fast. His hometown in Connecticut was pretty liberal, but you could still get the shit kicked out of you for holding hands with another boy in public -- although he could definitely get used to it. " _On the Shoulders of Giants_..." Shiro murmured. "Hawking's pretty great."

     "I had _A Brief History of Time_ , too, but I figured, if I had to pick one Hawking..." As he talked, finding words got easier. Knots unclenched in his stomach that he hadn't realized were there. "Those three were the only books I could fit in my bag when I moved. My life is an actual three books on a desert island joke."

     "Dang. Remind me to invite you to my dorm so you can root through _my_ personally revealing possessions. Is it okay if I keep looking?"

     "Sure." It was nice, having Shiro care what books he read.

     Shiro set the Hawking aside and traced another dog-eared cover. The back of Keith's neck felt flushed, sitting next to someone who might know enough Hawking to judge him on which book he'd kept. He wanted to say, "Which books would you pick?" but his eyes kept flicking to Shiro's lips, and his brain kept feeding him images of Shiro's hands brushing over his thigh instead of the pages of a book.

     Shiro clearly had no idea what effect he was having, or he wouldn't have said, "Wow, _The Giver_! That's a classic..." Keith would've felt a little awkward discussing kids books when his brain was stuck on sex. But the instant Shiro set eyes on an ancient Star Trek novel with Kirk and a Klingon and a dude in a tuxedo on the front, his date made the kind of gasp only a fellow nerd would understand. "Holy _moly_ , you've got to be kidding me!"

     "You caught me, I read Star Trek novels."

     "I can't believe _How Much For Just The Planet?_ made your three books on a desert island list! I mean, I love this one, but--"

     "Sometimes you just need to laugh. So..." Slowly, Shiro's whole sentence sunk in. "Wait, you're telling me you've read this one? Geez, I've never even seen another copy! I got that one at a Goodwill!"

     Holding the novel in his hands like some kind of archaeological find, Shiro murmured, "My dad had it, from when he was learning English. Man. After reading this the first time, I begged my parents so hard to get me a peppermint milkshake. My mom kept reminding me I was lactose intolerant, but I had to have one. I got so darn sick..."

     "Oh my god, all those milkshakes... I mean, I was cracking up right from the blue orange juice, but _all those milkshakes_!"

     "And the golf duel?!" Shiro cackled, smile gone way past Disney prince and into utter glee.

     "With the minefield!" Keith shot back. "That was the best!"

     "Cheese and rice, how did I forget about the minefield?!"

     "Just tell me you didn't forget that random pirate queen with the short order cook! Oh gosh, poor McCoy..."

     Not exactly out of nowhere, Shiro burst into a corny old tune, a little off-key but plenty recognizable. "There ain't no way to tell you fellas how it feels..."

     "To sack and burn a city wearin' six inch heels," Keith joined in. "But I guess I've been successful in my own sweet tyrannical way!"

     They both fell back laughing. After a week of loaded conversations and admiring glances at an apparent paragon of humanity across the coffee shop, there was something special about seeing Shirogane Takashi ugly-laughing. Silent, breathless guffaws while wiping tears out of his perfect eyes was the best look Keith had seen on him yet. He caught himself staring again as Shiro's breathing went back to normal, and everything that came next was easier than falling off a log.

     When you were falling off a log, there was always part of you pulling to stay up. Leaning in to kiss Shirogane Takashi, though, every bit of him was on the same page. It felt like Shiro was, too. His date cupped his cheek and picked up right where they'd been interrupted that afternoon -- except instead of a hint of rough stubble when Keith pushed against Shiro, there was smooth skin he could kiss forever, infused with the musky scent of aftershave -- not too strong to overpower the hint of date-prep toothpaste still on Shiro's breath.

     A few minutes later (how many, he couldn't say, but his lips had that officially making out buzz, and he'd found out that Shiro had just enough hair to tangle fingers in), the man who had definitely been _about to_ get a hand up his shirt when Keith hooked a leg across his knees for better leverage pulled back with a chuckle. "Keith... didn't you ask me out for dinner?"

     "Umm, change of plans?" His mouth was probably as red as Shiro's right now, which meant anyone who saw them leave his apartment would know exactly what they'd been up to. "I know, it's my second week in a new town, I'm probably not supposed to say I'd put out on a first date, but I've got to be honest..." Keith pulled himself all the way across Shiro's lap. In a way, straddling him was a question to himself, but he was glad to feel like the answer was a 'Heck yeah!' on a scale of 'Nope' to 'Let's do this'. "... whenever my gut says go for it, I've never regretted it. So, I like your chances."

     Shiro draped his arms over Keith's shoulders, sighing and staring. "You don't have to rush. I'm not going anywhere."

     "If... you mean that _you're_ not into sex on a first date, I totally respect that. I can get cleaned up and--"

     "Yeah, I didn't say that."

     "Whoa!" A sudden arm around the waist pulled Keith into a just as sudden fall. He caught himself on the futon pad, splayed out over Shiro's body, and barely had time to see one very cocky grin before his date pressed a solid kiss (geez, was that whimper really a sound coming out of his own mouth?) right onto the pulse in Keith's neck.

     "I said," Shiro whispered in his ear, "... you don't have to rush."

     Whatever. Keith couldn't get his jacket and shirt off fast enough, which was when he saw his cell phone lying there, the obvious answer to all his problems.

     "Wait, wait, wait..." he said, all too aware of the mock-serious smirk on Shiro's face. "Hold that thought. Obviously we can't not eat. I'm ordering pizza."

     "Does your place have teri-mayo?"

     Keith looked away from the app midway through punching up his usual pepperoni and spinach, trying not to get sidetracked by the lazy strokes of Shiro's hand on his skin. "Do they have what?"

     "Teriyaki and mayonnaise."

     "You're kidding, right? On a pizza?"

     "I'll take that as a no." Shiro turned the phone around to check the list. "Sausage, I guess... and hey! They've got corn! Sausage and corn for me."

     Keith could do the rest of the ordering process blindfolded, so he could spare the attention for asking the man getting cozy between his legs, "But... that teri-mayo thing..."

     "I'll take you to the pizza place by campus this weekend," Shiro promised, smoothing his hands down Keith's thighs, then back up to work on his fly. He had that special, gleeful grin for the lucky red briefs that Keith was extra glad he'd decided to wear.

     The breath hitched in Keith's throat as Shiro trailed kisses down his side. He wasn't going to be able to keep his brain on weird California food for long. "I can't promise to like it. I'll try it, but--"

     "It's a date." The low rumble Shiro's voice got when he rolled Keith onto his back sent a shiver down his spine. "So tell me," he murmured against Keith's stomach between kisses. "How do you like to get sucked down? Fast? Slow?"

     "With a finger in my ass?" Keith answered, thinking more of a dream he'd had last night than anything he and his old boyfriends had gotten up to. "Although, the pizza's coming in twenty minutes."

     "I bet I can guess where you keep the soap."


	4. Chapter 4

     Even being on forced dish duty (until the last of yesterday's new customers was seen making a second purchase) didn't seem so bad today. After waking up to Shiro making ridiculously charred toast directly on his stove burners (since Keith had neither a toaster nor pans yet) and getting a goodbye kiss at the bus station, Keith was sure nothing could bring him down. The glimmers of clean glass coffee pots and ceramic mugs waiting to go through the sanitizer rinse just looked like _happiness_ or something. And in four days, on Saturday, he'd hand Prorok and his Zarbucks a total defeat in the coffee department, then head out on a lunch date with Shiro. This week was pretty close to being too good to be true.

     Keith heard the patter of Lance's feet as his partner ducked in for more pastries, and couldn't help sighing, "Man. Have you ever just clicked with someone?"

     "Keith, I respect that a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, but I'm going to have to ask you to keep the goopy stuff to yourself. I had a ton of money on _me_ for the 'Who will Shiro sleep with?' Pool. My wallet is still hurting."

     Shoving the rack of dishes into the washer, Keith frowned at the person who, just yesterday, had been egging him on. "You had a betting pool on Shiro's sex life?"

     "Kidding, dude!" Lance punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Let's be real, I'm jealous as heck -- who wouldn't be? -- but everyone is happy for you. And, I mean... it's easier to resign myself when he's 'just clicking' with someone like you."

     "Like me?"

     "You know, complete and total opposite of yours truly? Man, I could even see you two heading to Mars someday. Sneaking a coffee plant into the hydroponics garden, building an espresso machine out of spare parts from your spaceship, and _poof_ , between you and Shiro, you could turn an entire Martian colony into an intergalactic coffee paradise before Galra figures out how franchising rights would even work..."

     "That's honestly a great idea," Keith murmured. He'd have to dig up some Mars lander schematics and start planning what he could use to build a working espresso machine.

     "I'm full of 'em." Whispering now, Lance asked, "So... you did the do, right? How was it? Is Shiro as good in the sack as he is with a blender?"

     Keith blushed crimson, tiny smile turning huge, because yeah, he wasn't gonna deny that trading blow jobs and making out last night between reenacting Gilbert and Sullivan routines had been a good time. And that, after this shift, he was headed for someplace that could sell him lube since he was more than okay with Shiro liking his ass (his own, and the ass he was getting) warmed up, wet, and messy. "Well I can't say about blenders but-- Wait! How did you know we had sex?!"

     "Umm, did you see your face this morning? Come on, Keith. Only two things release that many endorphins, and the United States doesn't have public transit fast enough for the second one."

     "I don't even want to know what you're talking about. Now, shouldn't you get back out front? Because if I'm back here, and you're back here--"

     "Then who's flying the plane?!" Lance laughed. "No worries, dude. On my way. See ya when the dishes are done."

     "Right behind you."

     The door went up on the dishwasher, steam wafting toward the vents. Keith juggled the hot plates into a stack and carried them out first, since pastries were apparently flying today. They weren't the only thing flying, either. Lance was already brewing another pot of drip, there were at least five drinks worth of used espresso grounds tapped out of the hoppers into the knock box, and Lance barely had time to get the case restocked, even at his super speeds, before another five people walked in the door. Now this was more like it!

     "You got this?" Keith asked.

     "You know it. Just get those clean cups out here and work the reg for me?" Lance didn't wait to see Keith nod. He stepped up to the counter and greeted the first lady in line. "What can I get for you today?"

     Keith didn't hear her, but Lance called back, "One medium vanilla latte coming right up!" in a voice no one could miss, so he knew exactly what to ring up after he brought out the dishes. Ringing up the rest of the line, getting them danishes and bagels... barely enough for a real barista to break a sweat. He was less prepared for Allura storming out of her office in a way that would've made any sane person worry for his or her life. Keith collected more dishes, and brought out the rest of the clean coffee pots, but he kept an eye on her march over to Hunk's book station. It looked like the friendliest dude in the West was discovering a whole new meaning of "panic". Pidge was the only one who didn't look distressed, and Keith might have only known her for a week, but he was sure that couldn't be good.

     The cafe counter, now free of any customers who might hear, was Allura's next stop, and she had a sullen Pidge in tow.

     "Where's the fire?" Lance asked.

     Allura didn't answer, exactly. She swept through the gap behind the counter and upended the knock box full of espresso grounds over the trash. "This stays empty, Lance. I've taught you better than that."

     "It's been a fast shift for two people!"

     "Be faster," ordered their manager. "You need to be able to serve our customers quality drinks in a timely fashion and have the spare seconds to keep this area spotless. And I do mean spotless. Chrome will gleam. Glass will be free of streaks. Dish stacks will be in precise order, not a millimeter out of line -- and no stray coffee grounds anywhere. Until now, it has been sufficient that our customers know they can eat off any surface in this cafe without worry, but starting now I need passing cardiovascular surgeons to believe they could safely use our counters as an operating theater. Do I make myself clear?"

     Keith started wiping the inevitable syrup drops off the counter. "What the heck happened?!"

     "We are, apparently, going to be televised. I just got off the phone from yelling at Prorok, to see if he knew about this, which he didn't." She flicked a stray hair back into line, taking a deep breath. "However, the fact remains, MSNBC appears to be doing a story on the contest this Saturday for some kind of cultural spotlight, and the film crews will be shooting background shots and interviews starting tomorrow."

     Lance lit up like a Christmas bulb. "I'm gonna be on TV?!"

     "Cafe Voltron will be on television," Allura corrected him, "and you will all be part of ensuring that the world sees us at our best. Pidge will begin training on making espresso today, and Lance, you'll be polishing the skills we discussed yesterday. We can't afford to take any risks with our reputation at stake on national television. Keith, that means you're helping Hunk on books. Even he can't straighten every shelf on his own."

     "Yes, ma'am," Keith said, hanging up his apron.

     Pidge grumbled her way through putting an apron on, folding up the middle so it didn't hang down to her feet. "I don't see what the big deal is. It'll be good for Zarbucks to have some accountability. Like Prorok would keep his promise if he wasn't in TV..."

     "Wait," asked Lance. "Did you do something, Pidge?"

     Allura shushed Pidge before a word could get out of her mouth. "Don't answer any questions asked by anyone, except for me or a lawyer I will procure for you if that becomes necessary. I'm liable anyway as your employer, but I don't want anyone else charged as an accessory after the fact to criminal activity -- which you _will_ cease engaging in on company time, or I will tell your father."

     "I always use proxies!" Pidge objected. Keith assumed that was a hacker thing.

     "Not another word. Lance, wipe the counters. Pidge, let's discuss how to grind espresso beans."

     Keith wanted to see how their training would go, but Hunk was waiting. That, and he had a phone call to make. Over by the book station, he pointed to his cell phone. "Do you mind if I..."

     "Make it quick, but sure," Hunk told him. "It's not like I have to train you on the alphabet."

     "Thanks." This wouldn't take long anyway. He pushed the cart of books to reshelve toward the first section Hunk had marked and punched in a call to Shiro.

     He actually picked up, so his first class must not've started yet. "Keith? What's up?"

     "We might have to reschedule Saturday. Apparently, the coffee contest is going to be a bigger deal than we thought."

     "So I heard..."

     "Did Allura call you or something?" Keith asked, pinning the phone on his shoulder while he hunted for where the books on the cart belonged.

     "Commander Iverson was yelling loud enough for the whole campus to hear. Something about getting drafted as a judge for some 'hogwash Voltron Coffeepalooza' because Buzz Aldrin had to cancel at the last minute. Keith, why would Buzz Aldrin be judging your coffee contest?"

     "Starts with a P and rhymes with fridge."

     The sigh on the other end of the phone pretty much said it all. "Say no more. And I mean that literally. If you-know-who did something, the less said about it on an unsecure phone line, the better. Also I might be required to report it to the authorities if I know about it."

     "I got that impression. So... maybe when you come in today, we can reschedule?"

     Shiro laughed, making Keith hot under the collar even over the phone. "You think I'm not coming to _Coffeepalooza_ to cheer you on? Once you wrap up, I'll take you out for a victory dinner. How's that sound?"

     "It sounds like a plan!"

     "Now you'd better get back to work. I'll see you at lunch."

     "See you then."

     He felt kind of goofy staring at Shiro's picture on the "Call Ended" screen with butterflies in his stomach, but not goofy enough to be embarrassed. He did slip the phone back into his pocket when he saw Hunk snickering, but he was still running too high to feel shame -- as if anybody could be ashamed of having a date with somebody like Shiro.

     "Man..." Hunk laughed. "Lance must be super jealous. Shiro would never date people he worked with, and he was, like... an _expert_ at pretending he couldn't tell Lance was hitting on him."

     Keith slotted the books onto the shelf as fast as he could. He didn't want to slow Hunk down any more than he had to. "Yeah, he made up some story about losing a betting pool."

     "Oh, the betting pool was real," Hunk told him, taking some books that must've been misshelved off the displays and putting them on Keith's cart.

     "Wait, what?!"

     "Lance bet on himself, and all the other bets were an even split between Allura, Pidge's older brother Matt, and this guy named Dwight. You wouldn't know him. I mean, Shiro _did_ date Dwight for a while, but he didn't tell anyone about it until after Allura shut down the pool. And we all thought he didn't know..." Midway through shuffling a messy stretch of shelf into order, Hunk slapped his hand over his mouth. "Um. If, uh... If me saying things like that makes you uncomfortable, I can stop."

     Keith shook his head with a grin. "You mean that Shiro dated people before? It's fine. I mean, it was obvious I wasn't his first, and I don't think I'd want to be. Experience is a good thing, you know? But I bet Allura shutting down the betting pool was amazing."

     "Oh yeah. She told the whole staff a thing or two." Putting on a fake accent and a falsetto voice, Hunk did one hell of an impression, complete with a spot-on chin toss. " _If you have money to spare, you should all put it towards a more worthwhile pursuit, which is exactly what you're about to do._ And then she confiscated the whole pot and sent it to Doctors Without Borders. It was, like, $400 or something."

     "That's amazi--"

     Coran burst through the front in a blast of red hair and jangling door chimes. "Allura! You said y'needed my help?!"

     "Yes, thank you so much, Coran!" she called from where she was teaching Pidge how much pressure to use to compact espresso grounds into the hopper. "If you have any time to spare, I'm trying to get this place spotless -- from top to bottom -- and no one can do it like you can."

     That was literally true, Keith found out before long. Both the 'top to bottom' part and nobody being able to do it like their pastry baker. The improbable sight of Coran scaling the ceiling like a parkour master and staying up there to scrub it until it shone was something Keith wouldn't soon forget.


	5. Chapter 5

     "What the _quiznak_?!" Lance squeaked.

     The news crews had set up a television monitor so everyone inside the cafe could see what was going on outside. The judges were hidden behind a curtain, surrounded by guards in black suits and sunglasses, but there was at least one face all of them knew doing a lighting test on the stage built in the middle of the street. The news anchor checked her earpiece and her spots, and three inches from the monitor, Lance was devolving into a spazz monster.

     "But that's... that's _Rachel Maddow_! Why is Rachel Maddow hosting our Coffeepalooza?!"

     Which was actually the name on the signs that some poor fool somewhere must have paid to print. "I'm sure she's wondering the same thing," Keith said. It wasn't like anyone but them knew that Pidge had apparently hacked a two-month long paper trail for this entire event into existence on Tuesday night. "Just keep your mind on the coffee."

     Lance pushed a hand into his face. "Shhh," he whispered, voice breaking into tears. "She's about to speak."

     Maddow smirked into the camera, as if nothing could be more normal than what she was doing. Keith had to hand it to her professionalism. "Good afternoon, everyone. We're bringing you a special broadcast today, live from Lompoc, California, where the giant coffee empire -- Zarbucks -- is about to go head to head with a local small business -- Cafe Voltron -- over the respective quality of their coffee. Now, you may be wondering why an event like this would make the news..."

     It was true, they were all wondering exactly what the news people had told themselves about why they would've agreed to this. At least, Keith was.

     With a shrug, the anchor said, "It seems like a trifle, doesn't it? This coffee shop, that coffee shop... It's a matter of opinion, right? But if I understand the stakes on the line today, we're looking at a _microcosm_ today: a small picture that encapsulates the nationwide trend of mega-chains being able to out-advertise, undercut, and outlast local businesses. And that might just be worth talking about. For more on what's at stake in today's competition, let's call out the managers from each store. Come on out here."

     The entire cafe was silent, watching a split screen as Allura walked out Voltron's front door, and Prorok came out of the Zarbucks across the street. Text tickers across the bottom scrolled statistics about how long each business had been running, how long each person had been working in coffee, and apparently that Allura had ranked in a barista competition in Florence, Italy, before inheriting the cafe from her father, not that Keith was surprised.

     The two managers shook hands, Prorok looking a little more nervous about the cameras than Allura. He probably still had no idea how this had happened.

     "Now," Maddow asked them, "Allura, I understand that you've promised to close your entire cafe if your baristas can't beat Zarbucks's coffee. But Prorok, all you'll have to do is offer an apology if you lose? Do you want to explain to me how that's fair?"

     The discussion buzzed on screen while, at the counter behind them, Pidge slurped down her third tumbler of black drip. "Guys. Are you really sure I should be in the final spot in the rotation? Even if we've already won when I go out, I've only got three days of training! I don't want to make the cafe look bad on the last drink! One of you should trade with me. Like Keith. Keith, we should trade."

     "You weren't this worried yesterday," said Keith.

     "Yesterday, MSNBC hadn't decided what order to put the judges in."

     Hunk frowned. "But they haven't announced the order. We don't even know who the judges are going to--" Pidge wiggled her fingers in the air like she was typing on a keyboard, and the big man nodded. "Oh, I get it. You have your ways. The last judge is gonna be a tough customer, huh?"

     "The toughest! I didn't exactly have a ton of viable celebrity options who would definitely have good taste _and_ be nearby today, so yeah, a tough customer slipped in!"

     Slapping her on the shoulder, Lance laughed, "Well, believe me when I say, you have definitely brought this on yourself, Pidgelet--"

     "If you ever call me that again, I will _burn_ you."

     "Besides! Three days of training from Allura is like... a master's degree in coffee! You'll be fine!"

     "Except for how all the Zarbucks staff were also trained by Allura," Hunk reminded him. "Because they stole our people, remember?"

     Lance's face transformed into one big side-eye. "Thanks, Hunk. Thanks for that."

     "No worries, buddy."

     Pidge poured another sixteen ounces of black coffee into her cup. "Maybe if I drink enough coffee, I'll transcend to a plane of oneness with the coffee machine where the espresso will make itself. It couldn't possibly make this go any worse..."

     On the TV, Rachel Maddow said, "Let's go over the rules before we introduce our first judge. It's pretty simple. We have a panel of five men and women, each of whom will order one drink. Cafe Voltron and Zarbucks will each send out one currently employed barista to take the judge's order, and whichever barista makes the drink our judge likes more wins one vote. Five judges means it takes three votes to win. Now, the managers themselves -- Allura for Cafe Voltron and Prorok for his Zarbucks -- will put their skills to the test first. Time to meet your judge..."

     The three of them moved to the judging table, and somewhere a live band started playing something jazzy. Behind the table, a curtain drew back to reveal a woman in a blue dress who waved to the assembled crowds with a customer service smile that Keith knew most baristas would envy. He sure did. It was almost as Disney-perfect as Shiro's.

     "Well that explains the Secret Service detail," Keith said.

     Everyone else was glaring at an unapologetic Pidge while Maddow offered the woman a chair. "First Lady Michelle Obama. It's an honor to have you with us in Lompoc today."

     "It's good to be here, Rachel."

     "Now, we'll talk a bit about the organic food initiatives that bring you to California while these two business managers make your drink, but why don't you tell everyone here what you look for in a coffeeshop, and what you're going to order?"

     The First Lady nodded thoughtfully, not a finger tap out of place. "I don't know how many of you know this, but Barack and I don't usually drink coffee outside of breakfast..."

     Three out of the four baristas crowded around the Cafe Voltron TV monitor facepalmed in unison. Pidge just poured herself another sixteen-ounce dose of drip. Allura, for her part, didn't look like she was worried at all.

     "... but that doesn't mean we don't get invited out to coffee shops when we're in the middle of official visits. Coffee shops are a major part of how this country's business gets done, so we're always happy to find a place that does everything else as well as it does coffee. I think what I'm gonna ask for today is a small green hot tea, topped off with steamed unsweetened soy milk and just a little bit of foam."

     "Coming right up," Allura said with a smile, and Prorok said with his best attempt at one.

     Keith could've cried with joy. He knew better than anyone how good Cafe Voltron's tea was -- and he knew for a fact that Zarbucks didn't stock unsweetened soy milk. This round was in the bag.

     Watching Allura sweep into the cafe and brew a cupful of aromatic tea was like watching a ballet. She had a rhythm to making sure everything got done at the right time, in the right order, and if he knew anything about his boss by now, the cup and saucer (which she served to the First Lady without a single spilled drop) were the perfect temperature. Prorok made it out a few seconds earlier, since teabags were nothing if not fast and paper cups didn't require any special handling, but the First Lady's comment of, "Not bad, not bad," and her wince at the first superheated sip only confirmed what Keith already knew about Zarbucks tea: it was an afterthought. Michelle Obama saying, "A little sweet, though," was just gravy.

     Taking Allura's cup, on the other hand, got an, "Mmm!" at first sniff, and one sip was enough for the whole nation to hear, "Now _that_ is a good cup of tea!" Keith couldn't blame her for thanking both competitors for their hard work, and telling Prorok he'd done a great job, but it was Allura's tea she kept drinking while the Zarbucks tea sat forgotten, and when she ended her decision, no one was surprised to hear, "I'm going to have to give this one to Cafe Voltron."

     "There you have it," Rachel Maddow told the camera. "Now, let's see the interviews with our next two baristas, Keith and Rolo, before we introduce our next judge."

     Stretching his neck to work out a few nerves, Keith went to take his spot next to the door, listening to the MSNBC coordinator say a few words about his signal to walk out, and what path he was supposed to take. He assumed that the audience in the street and the people watching on TV were watching a few seconds of the biographical interview he gave yesterday, which he was just as happy not to see himself. Hearing his own voice was always weird. At least he got to shake Allura's hand when she came back in.

     "You've got this," she told him. "I don't like to play favorites, but you're twice the barista Rolo is, and he's actually very talented. Make us proud, Keith."

     "You know I will."

     "Indeed. If I didn't, I never would have wagered the cafe over your little scene. So please remember, if we lose this contest, you're out of a job."

     He matched her smile for smile. "Then we better not lose."

     She went over to get her hugs from Hunk, Lance, and Pidge, while out on stage, Rachel Maddow brought another person out from behind the curtain. He couldn't hear what she was saying from here, but he didn't need to. There wasn't a single person in the orbit of the Lompoc Aeronautics Institute who didn't know what Elon Musk looked like, given that SpaceX was the company most of them were gunning for.

     "Go," the stage manager told him, and he stepped out of Cafe Voltron's door at the same time Rolo emerged across the street.

     Keith murmured, "This is it." He and Rolo had their eyes locked, as if their entire lives had been counting down to this moment -- even though, seriously, they'd only met four days ago, their lives were unlikely to meet ever again, the guy probably wasn't that bad as a person, and Keith was going to kick his butt anyway. But for these five minutes, there were only three people in the world. Him, Rolo, and the customer.

     "All right, Elon, Let's hear what you're looking for in your coffee shop order today."

     "Well, Rachel, here's the thing... it's... it's great being able to put fine, finishing touches on, well, anything really. Software, cars, a cup of coffee. I mean, I wouldn't get very far putting people on a rocket if my company couldn't even make a seatbelt, right?"

     Keith, Rolo, and the reporter all offered up a variation on the same short chuckle. Keith didn't think the other two were actually amused either. Such was the life of a customer service worker.

     "But the rocket isn't a seatbelt. It's a rocket. You've got to be able to handle the basics, and make them perfect... before you can even think about someone buying your product."

     That went on for at least thirty more seconds while Keith waited for the man to say he'd like an espresso, since if he was talking about basics, that was where this was headed. He wanted to work with SpaceX someday like half the people in this town, but a long-winded customer was a long-winded customer. Listening to this, especially when the gravity-like focus of cameras was proving Einstein's general theory of relativity by making time creep to a standstill, wasn't something he had to do. He had to keep his mind clear for the moment when--

     "-- so I'm going to order espresso doppio."

     "Coming right up," Keith said, right in time with Rolo. But he lengthened his stride as much as he could without looking rushed. He knew he wasn't that tall, which gave Rolo an advantage here. Longer strides meant ground covered faster, which could mean a few seconds difference in whose coffee reached the customer first. Tea needed to steep, and Allura could rely on her leaves to be head and shoulders better than Prorok's. Coffee beans were Zarbucks's stock and trade. Their beans weren't that bad, and Rolo had been taught to pull shots by Allura.

     Which meant a customer, who was tasting two espresso doppio -- double shots of espresso -- that were brewed at the same time, was going to give the edge to the drink that was fresher. That meant the drink that got to him first, and didn't have to sit around while he drank the other, was probably going to win.

     Keith whipped through the doors and behind the bar, pulling a demitasse down to the cup warmer with one hand while he wrenched the hopper out of the espresso machine with the other. He was in the zone. Beans in the grinder, he listened to the music of the blades cutting them down. He could hear the change in resistance when they hit the perfect size. He didn't need to look to know. He barely needed to feel his own grip on the hopper and the press to know he was packing the grounds right. They were like extensions of himself, and his arm muscles knew how to exert the perfect thirty-two pounds of pressure in his sleep. He used a single shot glass positioned under both coffee streams so he could pull it away at the same time he shut off the water, pouring it into the cup in one clean movement while he took a saucer -- already back on the move.

     Fast and smooth, not a splash on the plate. That was what he'd learned, and nobody could beat him at it. Even so, Rolo with his darned long legs and his paper cup where the espresso would be four inches away from the lip were neck and neck with him coming up the stairs. Keith only knew one way he was going to outmaneuver the guy now.

     "Order up," he called out when they were two steps away, and got the business mogul to look his way. He even held out his hand to take the cup. Rolo balked, missing no more than half a stride and got there a tick later than Keith, but it wouldn't have mattered even if the purple-haired man had put down his coffee cup a split-second before. None of the judges knew how much time mattered to fresh coffee, or they would've done espresso orders at the counters, at different times, and this judge was taking Keith's cup first.

     "You've got the presentation and the quality here, I see," Musk said after he tossed back the double shot. "Love the real cups. Excellent coffee, too. Strong, but it doesn't taste bitter. You wouldn't need cream or sugar in coffee like that, although I'm sure it would work--"

     Rolo shot Keith a look of bemused admiration. Weird. He would've expected stink-eye after the way he'd sniped the first spot, especially given how Rolo's shot were sitting on the table while the guy talked, slowly getting cool.

     "And now for our second contestant..." After a swish of water to clean his palate, Musk picked up Rolo's cup and knocked it back. "Again, I have to say, this is very good. It's hard to say what exactly is different, since... you know, I can't find a fault with the flavor! It tastes like good coffee, and an excellent base for any coffee drink. But I suppose... somehow, it's missing a sort of _spark_ the other cafe's espresso had. Like Michelle, I think I'm going to have to give this one to Cafe Voltron."

     Oh, the difference thirty seconds could make in the world of fine espresso.

     While Rachel Maddow told the cameras, "A very strong opening here for Cafe Voltron," Keith and Rolo closed to shake hands, and Rolo was straight-up smiling now.

     "Thanks for taking me seriously," the Zarbucks barista whispered. "I wasn't sure you would."

     "Any time," Keith answered. After all, he'd learned from the best. Nobody ever really forgot how to make good coffee.

     Before he went back to the cafe, Keith took a quick look at the audience. He hadn't dared look when he first came out, in case he lost his concentration, but now he had to. Sure enough, there was Shiro, standing right behind the last row of chairs, shooting him a thumbs up like a total dork and looking too good to be true anyway. He even had a "Go Team Voltron" sign.

     Yeah, Keith thought with a smile. He wouldn't mind going to Mars with a guy like that someday, if he got the chance.

     Lance slapped him a high five on his way in the door, and with the rest of the crew, Keith relented on his usual non-hugging policy. Pidge, naturally was drinking yet another cup of coffee. Where the heck she was putting all of it, Keith had no idea, since she didn't seem to be sweating, although her skin was starting to look unhealthily pale, and the muscles in her neck were twitching.

     "Pidge, I think we've got to cut you off."

     "I'm fine!" she hissed as Keith took her tumbler and held it over her head where she couldn't reach it, even while jumping. "It's not like I've started hallucinating yet! I know what the symptoms of a caffeine overdose are!"

     Allura whipped around. "Overdose?! Pidge, how much coffee have you had? Hunk, hold her while I take her pulse."

     They were missing Rachel Maddow's introduction for the military-looking man taking the stage, but who the guy was didn't really matter. All that mattered was that Lance could make most drinks way above Zarbucks standards. Pidge squirmed but Hunk had a good grip on her shoulders, which gave Allura the chance to take a rough pulse check.

     "One hundred forty-four beats per minute... Pidge, that is simply unacceptable. No more coffee. Stand _perfectly still_ where Keith can keep an eye on you, and practice taking deep breaths. You will meditate until I can be sure you're not going to hurt yourself. All right, everyone, here goes Lance. Let's all keep our fingers crossed for him."

     Now that he was taking a closer look at the man waiting for Lance and, apparently, Nyma, to take his order, Keith could have sworn he looked familiar. But it wasn't like he knew a lot of barrel-chested military brass who were missing an eye. For a second, he thought it might have just been his imagination, or something he'd seen on TV since all of these people were famous, but then Keith saw the hint of a smirk in Nyma's smile when the man gave her a nod. He had seen this guy before, when he'd marched into the Zarbucks on Tuesday. That was the guy she'd called "Mitch". He was a possible Zarbucks regular, at this Zarbucks. Nyma knew his orders.

     This did not look good.

     The cameras cut to Rachel Maddow facing the judge. "All right, Commander Iverson. Let's hear about what you're looking for, and what you're going to order."

     Iverson scowled, giving Lance a look of general disapproval. "Enough of the philosophy. A man wants his drink fast, and he wants it to taste right. That's what I'm looking for. And as for my order, I want a macchiato."

     Nyma said, "Coming right up," with a smile over her shoulder for her regular.

     Lance, meanwhile, stayed to asked, "Sir, when you say, 'macchiato', do you mean--"

     "When I say a macchiato, I mean a macchiato! What the heck else would I mean, young man? Now snap to it!"

     "Yes, sir! Coming right up, sir!" He was off the stage and in the door in a heartbeat -- one of Keith's, maybe two of Pidge's -- and pulling shots off the machine like there was no tomorrow, with a four-ounce cup on the cup warmer.

     Keith whispered, "Um... Allura..."

     She shook her head. "We are not allowed to help him. He's following company policy, exactly as I taught him, and that is part of what this competition tests."

     Unfortunately, Keith could tell this judge wasn't going to give Lance the chance to remake his drink the way company policy would've allowed. It was a darn shame. From the smells and the sounds coming out of the bar, Keith could tell... that'd been a perfect caffe macchiato. But that didn't stop Iverson from taking one look at it and screaming, "That's not what I ordered!" The jerk didn't even taste it.

     "If this wasn't what you wanted, I'd be happy to remake it--"

     "Nevermind that. Here comes what I was looking for..."

     Nyma handed the judge a sixteen ounce cup that was no doubt brimming with espresso, steamed milk, and plenty of caramel sauce, and there was no mistaking the look of a satisfied customer on Iverson's face. There was little solace in hearing Rachel Maddow explain to the audience why there were two drinks called a macchiato, even if it was going to help Cafe Voltron save face. Lance was coming back with a loss instead of the victory they'd been counting on. Hunk, waiting at the door, could make good coffee, no question, but the place where he couldn't be beat was on books, and Pidge seemed to have slipped from looking wired into looking like she'd mentally phased into an alternate dimension. Keith couldn't even be sure she was actually awake despite her wide-open eyes.

     At least she was still breathing.

     Lance walked over with his face in his hands. "He wanted a Zarbucks macchiato."

     "That's rough, buddy," Keith said, patting him on the shoulder. Maybe a business hadn't depended on it before, but heck. They'd all been there.

     "Allura, I'm so sorry."

     "You have nothing to be sorry for, Lance. The customer may always be the customer, but the customer is not always right. You made an excellent cup of coffee. I'm proud of you."

     The crowds outside finished clapping for the newest judge, an energetic young woman Keith didn't recognize, and the newscaster moderating the contest called for the next baristas to come out. "Thank you, everyone, for welcoming our fourth judge, Giada de Laurentiis. And here come our baristas for this round. For Cafe Voltron, we have Hunk, and representing Zarbucks, this is Beezer. I'm... going to assume those are both nicknames, but they are the official names we've been asked to use here today. Giada, are you ready to share your thoughts on coffee shops and your order with Hunk and Beezer?"

     "I sure am, Rachel!" Her smile sparkled, and with that level of pep Keith just knew she had to be a TV personality. "You know, even with drinks -- maybe especially with drinks -- you can't underestimate the importance of _mouthfeel_ , or how well your baristas pick up on the newest coffee trends. There are just so many amazing consistencies you can make with steamed milk which make all of the standard cafe drinks different, and one of the more recent innovations is the _flat white_ from Down Under. Well, I mean, they've had it since the eighties, but up here it's only been big for a couple years! So, I'm going to be looking for that velvety mouthfeel of the microfoam in a flat white, as opposed to the liquid milk in a latte or the dry foam in a cappuccino. But not just a flat white!" The judge held up a finger to stop the two contestants from saying anything. "I'd like you both to make a _breve_ flat white. All right, on your marks, and... Go!"

     As he rushed back in, Hunk was muttering, "Oh no, oh no, oh no, aaaaaah... microfoam, microfoam..." but Keith wasn't too worried. Hunk usually worked on the books, but Keith had never seen him burn a single pitcher of milk, and he was way more precise about getting the exact ratios and texture of his ingredients right than, say, Lance was. Lance had more practice, but Hunk knew what he was doing, and using the cream instead of milk to make the drink a _breve_ would actually make steaming microfoam easier. Even if they'd lost their chance for a three-up, three-down knock out, they could still bust out a win before their most untrained employee had to take the stage for a judge who, by Pidge's report, was a nightmare.

     Speaking of Pidge, at the whistle of the steam wand, she bolted out of her enforced meditation so fast, Keith nearly jumped out of his skin.

     "Geez, Pidge! You're supposed to be calming down, not pretending you're a creepy doll in a horror movie!"

     She stared right through him, like he wasn't even real. "I have to pee," she said, the sound of revelation in her voice.

     "I'm not surprised! You must've drunk a gallon of drip, at least. But make it fast, there's four minutes max before you have to go out there."

     "It's going to be okay, Keith," she said, her grip on his forearm like iron, but her eyes still unfocused. "Everything will be okay. I just have to pee."


	6. Chapter 6

     Pidge still didn't seem normal as she walked toward the back of the store, not even normal for Pidge. More like she was in a trance. But heck, even Pidge in a caffeine trance had to have the ridiculous skill Keith seen Pidge demonstrate every day to leave for the bathroom, pee, wash her hands, and get back to her computer fast enough that she didn't even have to pause her game of Robot Warriors (since she claimed that pausing was "for the weak"). She'd be fine.

     Right?

     Anyway, the team's focus right now had to be on Hunk taking his short cup of espresso and microfoamed cream out to Giada de Laurentiis on stage. Unlike the previous judges, she took one sip of one drink, cleaned her palate with some water, and took one sip of the other, seeming extremely careful to judge them on equal ground. There was definitely a process she had, between how she judged the aromas and how she took measured sips and waited to think before she made any kind of pronouncement. It kind of reminded Keith of how Allura had judged him on his first day. She had to actually know what she was talking about, which meant that--

     "You know, this really is a tough call, but I think I have to go with Zarbucks on this one. I mean, I would be thrilled to drink this Cafe Voltron flat white any day of the week. You are _not_ settling for less if this if your cafe... but there's a sense of fullness to the cream in this Zarbucks drink that speaks to a lot of experience on the part of the barista."

     Experience that barista had gotten at Cafe Voltron, Keith thought with a growl, but there wasn't anything he could do about that. He could feel a sense of panic sweeping over everyone in their little knot of employees, with the competition coming down to the very last spot. They all knew how much Pidge had learned in the last three days, and that even if she had to stand on a stool to use it, she'd taken to the espresso machine as well as she'd taken to every other machine in her life (ie, she was pretty darn good at making coffee for a newbie), but Zarbucks had a deeper bench of baristas. They'd be able to field someone who was, without a doubt, better than "pretty darn good for a newbie". They might very well be looking at their last day in this store, but still, everyone put on their best faces when Hunk came through the door. This wasn't his fault.

     Even though he was lumbering over, halfway drooped onto the floor, sighing, "I'm so sorry, guys. This is all my fault!"

     "No way," Lance said. "Dude, you heard the lady! You did great. It's just, you know Beezer, man. He's a machine. Nobody steams like Beezer."

     "We're all in this together, Hunk," Allura reminded him. "It's going to be all right."

     On screen, the fifth and final judge walked out from behind the curtain, waving to the crowd like a queen, and strutting to her seat like she owned the stage, which had to be an occupational skill for a supermodel whom even Keith recognized.

     "Let's welcome our last judge, ladies and gentlemen," said Rachel Maddow. "The one, the only... Heidi Klum. Heidi, thanks for being here today."

     "Please, Rachel! This is such a treat. I get to drink free coffee, _and_ make people sweat. It doesn't get much better than that!" And Keith could tell she meant it from the ruthless note to her voice when she laughed. Her smile was just so... full of glee.

     Naturally, Lance's jaw was on the floor. "Oh man, why didn't I trade with Pidge when I had the chance?! I could've been standing next to _Heidi Klum_ right now!"

     Hunk shook his head with a sigh. "Yeah, you wouldn't actually want to have done that, Lance. As you know, I have seen every episode of Project Runway, so I know exactly what Pidge was talking about. You do not want to be a person getting judged by Heidi Klum in a contest unless you absolutely have no choice."

     "Oh shoot, you're right. She's terrifying." Lance dragged his hands down his face. " _Amazing_ boobs, but terrifying..."

     "Lance!" Allura hissed.

     "If there is anyone in the world who I'm allowed to say has amazing boobs, it's Heidi Klum!" Lance squeaked back. "Boobs are very important to her! And also, we're all about to die!"

     "Excuse me," said one of the stage hands assisting the film staff. "But they're almost done discussing Heidi's new fashion line on stage. We need your fifth barista on deck _stat_."

     Allura looked toward the door, where the crew manager for their area was talking into his headset, and there was definitely no Pidge. "Wait, Pidge isn't here? Keith, you were supposed to be watching her."

     "She went to the bathroom!"

     "When was that?"

     "Before Hunk got judged. She should've been back by now..."

     Allura had to stay to talk to the camera crew about what was happening, but two female assistants went back to the bathroom to look for Pidge, and outside on the stage, they were running out of time.

     "All right, let's go!" Heidi said, rubbing her hands together with more of that glee that got scarier by the second. "Let's get these coffee people out here! Go, go, go!"

     The cameras turned on the Zarbucks entrance, where an elderly woman stepped out, and then on the Cafe Voltron entrance where there was no one to see. The sound went briefly to indistinct murmurs from the crowds outside, but before long, the cameras cut again to Rachel Maddow getting a message through her earpiece. "Folks, I'm being told that the fifth barista for Cafe Voltron is _missing_ , and because of the hiring problems since the Zarbucks came to town -- a perennial problem that leads to many local small businesses being unable to compete with national chains -- they may be having trouble finding another employee who's eligible to compete here today..."

     At the door, a handful of crew were trying to stop a disturbance outside, but whatever was happening, the crew manager waved for them to come in. The security figures stepped back, and the door opened on...

     Shiro?

     It was definitely Shiro, carrying his Team Voltron sign in one hand and a folded piece of paper in the other. He gave Keith a worried nod as he pointed the crew manager across the street and walked over to where Allura was talking to a bunch of people dressed in black and wearing headsets. He practically shoved the paper into her hands, saying, "Pidge asked me to give--"

     He didn't get a chance to finish. Allura took the paper, frowning at the words, "You're welcome," written on the outside, and scanned the text printed on the inside. Shiro stepped back behind Keith, resting a hand on his Keith's shoulder. The ex-barista was nervous, Keith could tell. His grip was painfully tight. But as Keith reached up and squeezed Shiro's hand, a little bit of the tension eased out. They both watched silently as the woman who had the most to lose studied the paper Shiro had brought in.

     "It's a print-out of one of the clauses of the contract for this competition, defining a current employee, and..." Allura gasped at the second page in her hand. She dragged the nearest crew person off, saying, "Get me on the line with your rules arbiter," and the rest of them were left staring at the screen as Rachel Maddow hit them with more breaking news.

     "Well, we've found the missing barista, but this isn't looking much better for our small-town heroes. Pidge, it turns out, is in the restroom -- the _Zarbucks_ restroom. We're going there live, to hear this from the source."

     Sure enough, the picture changed to the outside of a Zarbucks bathroom. "Hey, uh... sorry guys!" Pidge called through the wooden door. "I had to pee, but we had a line so I came over here."

     "How did we have a line?" Lance whispered. "It's a closed set!"

     Keith and Hunk both clapped their hands over Lance's mouth before he could say anything that might undo whatever thing Pidge had planned.

     Pidge, meanwhile, was telling the world, "... but it turned out I needed a tampon and I didn't have one on me, and the Zarbucks bathroom didn't have any either. I mean, what kind of public bathroom doesn't stock tampons? I call bull****."

     The end of that was bleeped out. Thank goodness for six second delays on live broadcasts.

     "So, uh, sorry team, but I'm not coming out until I can get a tampon."

     A pretty risky stunt, given that Nyma seemed like the type to always come prepared, but if Keith knew Pidge, she'd probably managed to steal every single tampon anybody in that building might have had as well as somehow sneaking in under the camera crew's noses.

     Rachel Maddow narrowed her eyes at the camera like a younger, hotter Clint Eastwood. "There you have it, folks. Competitor Pidge needs a tampon, and the Zarbucks restroom _doesn't have them_. Even if Cafe Voltron can't find a replacement before the clock runs out and they have to forfeit today, I highly doubt that Zarbucks can call this a win."

     "Seriously," Heidi Klum agreed, clucking her tongue. "You just can't do that! Zarkon, honey," she said into the camera, addressing the president of Galra Corp directly, "... next time I'm in Seattle, we're gonna have to have a talk about this."

     Allura walked back over, crew members parting before her like terrified waters. "Lance, take this to Pidge," she said, handing him a tampon from her purse.

     The cheerleader nearly dropped it, but got himself together at the last second. "But wait, I don't get it! Why would Pidge need a tampon?!"

     "What do you mean, why does she need a tampon?!" Keith exclaimed. "Why does any cis girl need a tampon?!"

     "Pidge is a _girl_?!"

     Pushing him toward the door, Allura just said, "Lance, hurry. We'll not leave Pidge sitting there. And Shiro, go get your apron."

     "Wait, what?" gasped the man standing by Keith's shoulder. "But I'm--"

     "Your last paycheck, according to these tax records..." she said, waving the second page of printouts from Pidge, "... happened to fall within this quarter. According to the rules, you're eligible, so get your apron and go take that woman's order, _immediately_."

     "Yes, ma'am!"

     He ran off, and all attention went back to Rachel Maddow, whose analysis of the match so far and reminders to the audience of the stakes could only go so long. "All right, folks. Here we go. Manager Allura has found a substitute for the indisposed Pidge for our final round. Heidi, get ready to meet your baristas."

     "Ready and waiting, Rachel."

     "We've already met Haggar, in our Zarbucks corner. Zarbucks is finishing strong with the store's top trainer for their baristas. And in our Voltron corner..." Shiro dashed out of the back room tying an apron behind his back, but the instant he stepped through the door, his game face was on. He looked every inch the cafe god that people seemed to think he was. "... Everyone, please give a hand to Shiro, Cafe Voltron's surprise pinch hitter!"

     The audience applause died down as Shiro arrived at the table, offering a wave and his Disney Prince smile that _of course_ warranted a close-up from the outdoor camera crew. Keith definitely couldn't blame them for thinking that made good TV.

     He couldn't blame Heidi Klum either when she looked him up and down with an eyebrow arched into her hairline. "Hubba hubba! Can I get one of _him_?"

     Shiro offered a perfect customer service laugh, not even fazed, which of course he wasn't. Every barista got hit on, and Shiro probably more than most. "My boyfriend might have something to say about that," he told the supermodel.

     Keith hadn't considered himself the type to get goopy over being called a boyfriend in public, and hey, they'd only been on one date so far, so maybe Shiro was just playing it up because being taken was always a good defense. Still, he already had a sense that Shiro wasn't the type to tell lies of convenience, and Keith's heart definitely felt like it was going to swell out of his chest and explode -- in the metaphorical sense, not the sense where he should be going to the hospital.

     "Lucky boyfriend," Heidi shot back. "Okay, let's get started. Now, I'm not sure what the other judges were thinking, but last time I checked, we were supposed to give you a _challenge_. And as anybody who knows me can tell you, I love to give my challenges a _little twist_..."

     "Lance is right," Hunk said, gulping down some water. "We're all gonna die."

     The supermodel grinned at her baristas. "So here's what I want. A _small_ bacio double ristretto affogato. Can you do that for me?"

     Both baristas said, "Coming right up!" although the Haggar woman who worked for Zarbucks seemed to have a sinister joy in her tone. It was like she knew, despite Shiro's confidence, that affogato wasn't something Cafe Voltron could make. Sure, Zarbucks had an official drink they called an affogato, but Cafe Voltron didn't serve things that weren't genuine, and a genuine affogato meant you needed gelato. They didn't even have ice cream in their freezers, let alone proper gelato.

     And then there was one other problem. Ristretto was easy enough. They could all pull short shots for that extra punch of flavor, but even so, Keith would've been out of his depth up there if he'd been the one taking that order. He was pretty sure that "bacio" wasn't any kind of coffee term, because he didn't even know what it meant.

     Next to him, Allura dialed her cell phone. "Coran? Oh, you saw. Thank goodness. I'll need to add gelato to our menu starting tomorrow. Actually, if you can get it here before the broadcast ends, that'd be even better. Do you have any in stock? Excellent. Let's start with chocolate, vanilla, and hazelnut. Thank you so much, Coran."

     Keith thought she was giving new meaning to the word "optimism", until he saw the mixture of the powdered milk blender base and a handful of ice, plus a touch of cream and some flavorings, that Shiro was pulsing and shaking in the blender. The grind-shake pattern kept the mixture from getting stuck the way most super dry blends would do. Keith stood wide-eyed while it turned into a (clearly chocolate) semi-solid.

     Pidge and Lance walked back in, the tiny hacker joining him in gaping while Lance nodded smugly. "Is he _making ice cream_?" Pidge gasped.

     Lance could've been a proud parent at kindergarten graduation with the way he wiped a tear from his eye. "That's my boy. You show 'em, Shiro!"

     "Of course, I wouldn't ask any of you to try to accomplish this and still serve drinks to customers in a timely fashion," Allura said, "which is why you'll be working with pre-made gelato when people inevitably come in asking for affogato after seeing Shiro serve it on television."

     Watching Shiro spoon the soft-serve consistency "ice cream" into a plastic-wrap-lined cappuccino cup and push it into the freezer, Keith stammered, "B-but there's one thing I still don't get. What the heck is bacio, and how did Shiro know what to make for it?!"

     "My uncle was visiting from Italy two years ago," Allura said, "and he simply loved to tell people what his order would be in Italian, so he always ordered his dark chocolate and hazelnut drinks as _bacio_. Technically, it ought to have bits of hazelnut mixed in, but... well, we can't ask for miracles, can we?"

     As far as Keith was concerned, they'd already gotten a miracle -- or at least an act of Pidge -- and he'd never been more smitten with his gorgeous, dorky boyfriend than he was while watching Shiro tamp down espresso grounds and pull double short shots. When he dumped the chocolate hazelnut ice cream (topped with a chocolate drizzle) into a new cappuccino cup, it was frozen enough to hold a dome shape, and the two hot ristretto shots let loose the most amazing scent as he drizzled them over the top. Shiro grabbed a saucer and a spoon, and off he went.

     Haggar reached the stage and handed over her drink while Shiro was coming out the door. Making ice cream from scratch, there was no way Shiro was going to make it out first, but Keith didn't think that would matter this time. Heidi Klum gave the sixteen-ounce cold cup a suspicious, side-eyed scowl.

     "Is that really your smallest size? It's huge! How am I supposed to drink this whole thing?" She took a sip out of the straw anyway, giving it a nod. "Well, the flavor's not bad, and I like the mix of the blended... drinky, freezy _stuff_ with the hot coffee, but _wow_ , that is _sweet_. I don't think I could drink the whole thing."

     While she took a drink of water, Shiro set his cup and saucer down with a smile like he'd already won. "Here you go, ma'am."

     "Oh, don't you _ma'am_ me, honey," Heidi teased, then smelled the aroma coming out of the coffee cup. "Oh, wow. Now _that_ is an affogato." She took a bite with the spoon, moaning around the mouthful of chocolate and coffee. Turning to Rachel Maddow, she said, "Let me tell you, this boy is not just a pretty face. That other thing was a drink, but this... to me, this is an _experience_. I have to say, I think we have a clear winner. Thank you, Haggar, for a really good try, and thank you, Shiro, for what is probably the best coffee I've had outside of Europe. Cafe Voltron has really earned this win. Mmm!"

     "There you have it, ladies and gentlemen," Maddow said to the crowd. "With a last minute comeback, at three votes to two, Cafe Voltron has beaten Zarbucks in the taste test and won the right to keep their doors open."

     Cheers erupted everywhere. Everybody in the cafe was hugging everyone. On stage, Heidi Klum had even gotten up to give Haggar a hug, and Shiro a much more comfortable looking one (plus a peck on the cheek). "Give that boyfriend of yours a kiss from me, huh?" she said.

     In the flurry, one of the crew tugged on Keith's sleeve, saying, "We need you out front."

     They made their way around the crowd to where Rachel Maddow was waiting on the stage with Prorok, motioning for the Zarbucks manager to step forward. "All right," she said. "Let's finalize the stakes of this contest. Prorok, in the event of Zarbucks's loss, you agreed to apologize to Keith."

     The towering man extended a hand, despite his grimace. "Keith. I apologize for my rudeness. It was... inappropriate."

     "Apology accepted," Keith said, not sure quite what else to say. He hadn't even thought about that actually happening. And since Prorok still had his hand out, and you couldn't leave a man hanging on national television, Keith gave it a good shake.

     The cameras turned for one last time on Rachel Maddow. "Apology given, and apology accepted. I think we can safely say this is the first time we've had an event like this on MSNBC, and after a result that decisive, it may very well be the last. I'm Rachel Maddow, signing off from Lompoc, California, and this has been Coffeepalooza. Back to you, Jim."

     Once the crew stopped broadcasting, the real mayhem broke loose. Applause, chanting. Keith hadn't even realized that this many people in town knew where Cafe Voltron was, let alone that they cared. And there was one person waiting at the side of the stage who, in his opinion, could pack more joy in a single smirk than an entire audience full of cheering fans could manage.

     "Nice one, Shiro," Keith said. "You really saved our butts."

     "You've got a butt worth saving. Besides, we all did this together. Now if you don't mind, I promised someone I'd give you a kiss."

     "Don't let me stop you."

     He didn't let the hooting crowds or Lance yelling, "Get it, Keith!" or the clicking smartphone cameras stop him either. Why should they? Keith had every right to get a kiss from his hot boyfriend with his slightly rough 3PM stubble. And if it went a little long for standing in front of a crowd, that was fine, too. They had something to celebrate.

     "All right, that's enough, you two. We have to get the cafe set up to serve this crowd on the double."

     "Or you and me could join 'em," Lance offered. Keith could hear him smirking. "What do you say, Allura?"

     "I say you need to wash the dishes."

     They walked back to the cafe, all smiles, Keith holding Shiro's hand just because he could. By the time the camera crews had their equipment struck, the bar area was spick and span with a load of dishes coming out of the wash and a fresh pot of coffee ready for everyone waiting in line. Naturally, Coran was the first person to bust through the door.

     "Allura! I've got your gelato here! And some ice cream scoops, too. Where d'you want it?!"

     "I've cleared some space in this freezer. Thank you so much!"

     Lance, naturally, was dancing on air. "Dude! After that broadcast, we're gonna be famous! Cafe Voltron is set for life!"

     "Seriously?" Keith sighed. "You really think that many people are gonna care about a coffee contest airing in the middle of the day on MSNBC, with no advertising?"

     Hauling out a pile of cups from the back, Hunk shook his head to say no. "I hate to derail your theory, but among the few people who watch MSNBC at midday are all the comedy news shows. You had better believe they're gonna mention this."

     Pidge laughed, leaning over the pickup counter. "Oh yeah. Keith, I hope you're ready for Twitter pics of you making out with Shiro to be _all over_ Monday's Daily Show." She waved her phone, with a few choice snapshots loaded up and ready to send.

     "You wouldn't!"

     "Oh but I would! Unless... maybe..." She slid her coffee tumbler over the bar. "You want to take back how you said I was cut off for the day."

     Keith shot a glance at Shiro, who was sitting at his usual table and listening in, as expected. It was his picture, too, after all. But his boyfriend dismissed the pictures with a handwave. And that was just fine, too.

     "No coffee," Keith said, filling her tumbler up at the water tap. "Send the pictures if you want, but I'm not serving you anything caffeinated until I'm sure it won't kill you."

     "Traitor."

     "Hey, Keith!" Lance called from the register where an elderly lady was swiping her card. "I've got a small triple shot soy caramel mocha latte, extra hot, no whip!"

     "Coming right up," he yelled back with one last smile for Shiro before he dove into the work. All things told, this had been a pretty good day...

     And he hadn't even had the teriyaki mayonnaise pizza yet.


End file.
